Request for mostly myself and a bit of Crystal. Please the A/N at the bottom!
Up, down, glide, arch.
Spin, fly, flex, clench.
Expose, tantalize, flush, moan.
This pole was made for her. It was specially wielded for slender hands to grasp and skin to slide over. Liquefied, poured, and mashed to fit her lithe body as she glided like a fluid. It radiated under her touch and allowed only her to partner it in dance.
Flaky deftly brings her calf parallel her ear and breathes. The pole is cold metal in her hand, warmed only by her body heat. A contradiction to her pulsing, throbbing skin. The boiling blood that pleaded to escape its confines. Flaky ignores her scalding flesh and palpitating heart with another inhale.
Slowly, slowly.
Inch by inch, she rises up the pole, releasing to swing once she neared the top. This was her platform, her element. Alcoholic scent and humid air in her face, lights mercilessly assaulting her bare skin, and skin-tight clothing. The burning in her core lessens with her gradual stop. Flaky completely stops her descent when the pads of her feet touch the cool stage floorboards, backside perked in the air and spine arched alluringly.
"Flaky?"
Yes, her name needed to be spoken.
"Flaky."
Repeated even.
"Flaky!"
And like that, the platform dissipates with a frazzle. The pole, the crowd, the dyed lights, they fizzle and die.
"Ha!" Flaky snaps up from her desk, crimson eyes frantically adjusting to sudden light. Pupils shrinking, she recognizes the moistness of her chin for drool.
Where is she? Who is she?...And who is the male standing inside her cubicle.
Flaky audibly gulps as heat floods to her face. Tugging at her oversized blouse, the redhead turns her revolving seat, and stiffens. Yup, she is in for it now.
"A-ahhh...Sir! I was just-just brooding over some papers a-and signing important documents!"
Just like her to be an imbecile before her boss, that boss being the vice president of Happy Tree Inc., Mr. Splendont. The man who controls not only her paycheck, but position in work. Or if she even has a position.
Napping on the job is strictly prohibited and she's been caught redhanded. Kneading her stocking-clad knees, Flaky drops her gaze. God, she prays, does she need this job. She needs it so badly she'd beg if he let her go. Tears are already surging to gather in her eyes-
"That would explain why your desk is empty."
Flaky cringes at his nonchalance. "I...I'm so sorry, sir!" she gushes, favouring to apologize instead of suffering persecution. "I had a long night yesterday and my eyes felt so tired and I w-wasn't fully aware that I was dozing! It won't happen again!"
Her boss contemplates her workspace once over. His eyes end on her, raking in fray hairs, scattered flakes, and trembling shoulders. "That's fine."
"Really?" she asks from shock.
"Yeah. I'll just have to up your workload, since Splendid refuses to."
What Flaky thought to be generous forgiveness from her boss (a rarity she's heard of never) turns out to be extra work, as expected. Expected, but not hoped for. Her productivity levels aren't high as they are and this past month has been increasingly stressful. She can't remember if she slept two hours or twelve hours yesterday, and the lounge coffee isn't any help.
Her shoulders slump dejectedly but she quickly recovers. Feigning a renewed vigor, Flaky nods enthusiastically. "Yes, sir! I'll make sure n-not to rest until everything is done!"
Splendont can't bother to pretend to be impressed, apparently. Humiliation levels ascending when his eyes train on her coffee mug instead, she nods perceptibly. She's abashed, confident of the shame blighting her countenance.
Splendont inattentively adjusts a tack box. "Yeah, whatever. Just don't nap on my time, got it? I'm not paying you to catch some Z's."
"Yes, sir."
He dismisses himself and Flaky sighs loudly. She slumps upon her table and pasionlessly organizes her pens and frames.
It's not that she dislikes her job at Happy Tree Inc.-she does-it's just, her sleeping habits have been interfering with her work a full-time, decently paying job is what others would envy, but the stress is mounting upon and burying her. She's dysfunctional on her own with her paranoia of printers and definitely doesn't need more stress; white roots are already starting to reside on her scalp. Flaky can't bring herself to quit from the first stable, established job she's had. Not when her brother is forced to do the unspeakable while she basks in conditioned workrooms.
Splendid was kind to her in the darkest times of her life. Fresh out of high school, she lacked education and experience. The other candidates were better equipped for jobs as these. Flaky hadn't met the quota, simple as that, and felt minuscule compared to the standards of others. A call wasn't anticipated.
When Splendid said he'd wiggled her in, inspired by her youthful wit, she'd bawled. Her debt hadn't been paid since then, Splendid insisting she owed solely her brightness for her acceptance, but she pledged from then on to dutifully work. To hone her business skills and scale up the corporation ladder.
That dream was bisected shortly after she was introduced to his younger, much more moody and temperamental brother: Vice president Splendont. When the entirety of the floor had fell into an awed hush at his presence, Flaky knew he wouldn't be like Splendid. And true to her initial impression he was much the opposite. Aloof, serious, and immune to her charm (or what others claimed she had).
Every attempt to impress him had dropped dead and she eventually gave up the pursuit. He didn't seem to like anyone. The least his brother, but when his gaze passed over her it seemed to lower the temperature drastically.
She annoyed him. Heavens knows why.
Flaky had a good guess, however, as she reapplied her lipstick and dabbed at where it smeared on her chin. If it weren't for Splendid and his leniency for the redhead, she'd gamble that Splendont would have her body physically thrown from the business's eighth floor window. Worse, he'd personally relegate her to a garbage disposer.
Flaky choked back a groan and bent over to scribble through a few dulled documents pulled from her drawer. The print was too small, and that's how she deemed it important. Amidst the copious papers and scrawled signitures, her dream came venturing from the crevice it'd hidden in.
Her pen paused mid-loop. The dryness in her esophagus was unnoticed as she scanned the paper without registering what she read. Tongue protruding to lick at her lips, Flaky strained to remember.
Hot. So hot.
Fire dwelling within her stomach, her body the furnace, and causing her skin to burn like a living inferno. The heat was good, however. The flaming touch against cool metal was a sensation that made her nose twitch. Pleasant, familiar, erotic.
So erotic.
Flaky caught herself flushing and intensified her focus. The pressured pen trembled, a blot of ink ruining her fragile name. She wouldn't admit how she reveled in that dream. Never. To nobody.
Not in the working environment, anyway.
The day was passing, uneventful to say the best. There were no more surprise drop-ins from her redheaded boss and the only thing of notice was Cuddles' misfortunate meeting with their supervisor, T. Mole. As for Flaky, she trudged through whatever paperwork appeared on her desk. Her fervour had subsided and she scorned the dwindling pile.
The worst part of her day was when she'd return from an hour lunch break, relieved that her work was nearing completion and envisaging a deserved rest, and found a mountainous stack perched on her desk. A sticky note taped atop it read vaguely with the words, "finish by work day's end." Assumably Splendont's "uped work," she suppressed an agonized cry and scurried to finish it.
Presently, the clock on her desktop screens six p.m. She's worked a ten hour shift, tacked onto her three hour sleep last night and twenty minute nap, and topped onto the approaching night. Her body is exhausted and her feet, squeezed in unbearably tight heels, scream for a massage.
Flaky embows her back for its satisfactory cracks. Rolling her shoulders, she sighs with relief. Days where she only files papers and receives papercuts are the slowest, but she won't overlook the butterflies congregating in her chest.
Gathering loose items into a navy handbag, Flaky jumps at three sudden raps. Knuckles on her cubical walls, deriving from the office to the east of her. Cuddles' station.
The blond is roosted on the separating wall. His arms crossed and his natural bedhead is even more tousled, a casual grin stretched from pink cheek to pink cheek. He seems awfully smug with himself.
"Flaky, busy tonight?" he asks, yawning. "I heard today is Splendont's birthday. Splendid is planning on throwing a huge bash for the occasion, you in?"
Flaky bows a precise brow. "You act as if you don't know what I'm doing tonight." It didn't take much for her to slip from work mode into night mode, from suiting into the persona she enjoyed playing most. "You know I'm busy, and so are you."
Cuddles grins. "I might've forgotten my shift. Handed it off to Toothy instead, Giggles is keen on going to Splendont's party as a guest and not as the entertainment."
"Giggles isn't performing tonight? What about Petunia?"
"Neither. Petunia flew out to visit Handy is what Giggles told me. Says he's getting prosthetic arms if the doc allows."
"And Lumpy allowed all three of you the day off?"
Normally she wouldn't be this open about disclosing even an inklet of her...other hobby, but she trusted Cuddles entirely. He had his own secret, which she kept confidential, and they'd grown a mutual reliance on each other. Besides, there wasn't a visible soul in the vicinity, and the dwaddlers who strayed were preoccupied with stashing away remaining work.
The air rushing though vents drowned out their conversation. The clunking of a soda can thumbling down into open hands, bubbling and rippling from the office's fishtank, and coffee brewing for an employee working in extra hours creates a comfortably loud atmosphere. Though they do speak in soft tones.
Flaky's nostrils flares slightly at the delectable aroma of coffee beans, a tired hum buzzing over her skin. "Wow, he must be feeling lenient today. Or maybe someone slipped some pills into his drink to help relax." It wouldn't be the first time their moronic boss unintentially swallowed sedatives.
"I know right?" Cuddles took to twirling a particularly ruly strand in his fingers. "But it's so cool, we'll finally be able to see what others witness on stage! Like a one way mirror we'll actually be on the viewing side of!"
"Ha? Wait, repeat that again?"
"I told you Flaky; me and Giggles want to be guests as opposed to simple entertainment."
She might not be a wiz at math, but putting two and two together isn't difficult. The product is still stressing she realizes. "Are you kidding me?" Flaky frowns. "You are, right? So basically all you ditched me for some party, hosted in our club."
"I can't say I'm sorry. You know how loaded Splendid is, this party is gonna be the tits!"
Flaky grimaces at his vulgar choice of explanatory words, stores the last file away, and grabs her handbag snappily. "The one place I go to get away from work," she huffs, "is being overtaken by my bosses and co-workers for the night. What a nightmare."
"Oh calm down!" The blond clicks his tongue at her melodramas. "This isn't the end of the world. Tonight is masquerade themed anyway, so you'll have a mask on. No one's gonna know it's you."
The business day is already wound to its finish and she is only exceeding her tolerance for the place. Turning, she thins her lips and thonks her forehead lightly. "And you think a simple mask is going to do the trick? Think before you talk, because now I have to see if Lumpy will grant me the night off."
This talk is over. This day is over. Even the butterflies in her stomach are gone. The only comprehensible thought she manages is the picture of her engulfed in a blanket with her brother, watching a comedy, and eating from a bucket of cheeseballs. But that wouldn't happen, because instead of home she'll be driving downtown where a certain pair of fishnet tights await her.
Cuddles doesn't heed her anger and adds in his chirpy, pubescent voice: "You know there's gonna be some perverts there tonight, don't forget to put on your barbed wire underwear!"
God, please.
Flaky wasn't a very ambitious person when it came to work.
But prancing around on stage was hardly work, it was a form of dance, an art. When she'd first been introduced it disturbed her how easily she slunk around in odd, jutting angles. It was a passion she just happened to get paid for.
The stripping part was optional, and she opted for it to make a few quick bucks.
According to the other dancers, she could put on quite the erotic show. One look at the expanse of bare skin curving over her legs and torso and the costumers were entranced. What would be sickening compliments were always shot down when the redhead realized everyone was usually forty, obese, or pissface drunk. Those were deal breakers, especially when they blew their load onto her stage.
She hated having to order someone to wipe a bastards' vomit.
Despite that, this club and its workers were a second family to her. Her only other family was her twin brother, and he was never far from her. As odd as it sounded she felt accepted there.
Flashing strobe lights coloured the club's burgundy walls. Excluding three tables, the booths are empty. The woman struts in, passing the bartender who tosses her a cherry, drags a hand across leather-clad couches and makes for the backrooms. She opens the door to her personal changing station, focusing more on the bomb of a party than her actual gig.
"Ah, so you finally decided to show?" is the greeting question heard.
Flaky nearly goes into cardiac arrest when the voice sounds. Dammit, Flakes. She forgot how elusive her brother could be when he wanted to ravage through her things and how he often chose to drop a "surprise." Her older brother was seated on her dresser, foot jiggling lightly.
"Dammit, Flakes," she voices her thoughts. "I thought I told you to stay out of my room."
Her brother smiles innocently. "What is this, home? I just wanted go be here when my little sis came. Plus, Giggles isn't working today so she can't tell me what to wear." Jumping off her dresser, he strides over and mechanically rides her shirt up and over her head. The garment falls lifelessly into a fabric pool. "So guess who's playing dress up with me today~?"
"Toothy?"
"Ha, funny." Flakes bops her nose and heads to the clothes rack lined with gawdy clothes and even gawdier colours. Metal sliding over metal signifies his starting challenge to find a suitable outfit. For her, and for him. "Lame, lame, last year, cheap-is this imitation Brittney Spears? That's so-"
"Don't say what I think you are."
"That is so ratchet." Flakes pronunciation for each syllable is sharp and clear, a quirky smile touching his lips. "I'm not sorry," he says. "But being surrounded by girls all the time draws out my inner...feminism."
"Uh-huh."
Tediously sighing, he gives up his short attempt for dressing Flaky. Instead he drapes himself along the single couch lining the room's south wall. "What's gotten you all worked up? Did Splendick not give you any of his 'special' treatment today?"
Flaky drums her fingers agitatedly on his arm. She is aware of her sibling's distaste for her boss, or any male lifeform he deems pretentious, so she easily ignores that question's indications. "Did you know we were hosting a party here?" she asks rather bluntly.
"Oh?" Flakes replies, interest piqued. "Who's the lucky birthday boy or girl, and did they request your services~? Because I could always relieve you of them." He clucks his tongue at the poorly guised insinuation.
"No! Just answer the question, Flakes. Did Lumpy ever tell you about a party or not?"
"Maybe yes or maybe no. I'm wracking my brains and I might remember a something about a high-and-mighty client renting out this joint for the night."
"Any names?"
"What's it to you?" He glares at her distrustfully, shamelessly scoping her body for any new markings or bruisings to indicate his fears. "Past, present, or possibly future boyfriend in the market?"
"What?" Flaky drops the two shirts (if the slivers of clothes could be considered as such). "No, no! You don't get it!"
"Or is it a girl this time?"
"Flakes!"
"Last time you had one, wasn't she a kink master? Like full BDSM stuff? I did put my money on you bottoming~"
"I-idiot!" she cries, anguished. "It has nothing to do with that! It's my boss' birthday and it's being hosted here!"
Flakes rubs his satin smooth chin contemplatively. "I get it," he claims. "...Your boss isn't into that weird crud but you're gonna use it tonight anyway! Imagine his face once you pull out the buttplug!" Barking out a laughter and completely lolling in her reddened face, he spans his fingers over the couch.
"You're no help! I'm freaking out over this and you're dying of heart failure!"
"I'm sorry!" Flakes chortles unapologetically, making no move to cease his laughter. "It's just-what does it matter if your boss sees you shaking it?"
She gawks, arms hooked in the straps of a bedazzled bra. "For one, my job credits would be gone, I'd be fired from my work, AND the mortification would take me to an early grave?"
"Is that all?"
Her brother will be the death of her, Flaky begrudgingly thinks. After another fit of laughter, concern washes over his features, brows furrowing to bring all-familiar creases to his forehead. He notices how she won't meet his gaze and seems busied with the buckles on her platforms. When her fingers fumble nervously and slip, Flakes beckons her to sit with him.
Buckling the belts properly, he softly utters, "It's okay, you still have me. I'll be up there you know. Tonight we have a duo." He smiles crookedly. "Let's give your boss a hard on he won't be able to forget, how bout it!"
She wants to be mad. She wants so badly to slap away his offending hands and explain how this could screw up her life in more ways than one. But she doesn't, why? The prospect of gliding with her spotlight and positively immerse herself in an accepting ambience is too much. It's too tempting.
Flaky's eyelashes lower to brush her cheeks. She grabs her brother's hand and plays with his slim fingers to distract herself. "Why is everyone being so crude today?"
Flakes beams. "So is that a yes?"
"It...won't kill me."
"Good. I bet your bosses are both dripping money, so hello new boots~!"
She can only muster a diffident smile. In an hour they'll be opening to a public crowd and she isn't looking forward to seeing the three reserved tables she passed filled with company faces.
Flaky silently thanks God that tonight is masquerade night. She knows that the club has weekly themes, last week's being cops, but her gratitude won't fade. Flaky's hair distinguishes her enough that she doesn't need her baby face to scream identity. The hardened mask pressed and curved to fit her heating face is overly glittered, crafted from a granite hued plastic, leaves only two moist, slightly parted lips naked. Apart from her exposed, vibrating skin.
The club is already filling with a rowdy crowd of older men and women alike. Booze scents permeates the air, making her head swim, and sweat practically saturates into the stage. The collection of vistors from both genders weave through across the floor as they slide into booths or order drinks. Even the building's walls seem to be thrumming like the insides of some living beast, Ke$ha cranked up from strung-up stereos.
It's hectic.
And Flaky loves it.
Plumping up her hair as well as her chest, Flaky looks to where her brother is. He's applying a layer of foundation in hopes of gaining a more youthful air, despite how his baby faces mirrors hers, and radiates pure ectasy. They won't admit how enthralling these gigs can be, how the adrenaline coursing through her veins drives away all exhaustion. Tomorrow she'll regret taking this shift, but that's a bridge she'll try crossing and end up plummeting off when she reaches it.
"I think Lammy just got off stage," Flaky says over the music and a roar of drunken applause. She comments offhandedly while dragging a brush over her cleavage, "She's pretty good even if she's new. I just have the weirdest feeling she's underage, though."
"Hey, if she looks the part leave her be. Besides, who's the one who looks like she just got her braces off?"
"You."
Flakes childishly sticks his tongue out and pats down some clumps. The curtains part to a waltzing Lammy, glowing like she was a virgin who'd just had her first taste of paradise. Flaky doesn't stop to tease how her brother's eyes linger a second too long, nor how they trail wantonly after her. She won't deny how cute Lammy is, but he's already staked an unspoken claim on her.
"Flaky," Lammy calls blithely, "Flakes, I think you two are up! The crowd seems bigger today, so don't mind if there are more dragging hands today. At least the pay is heftier."
Flakes mumbles and rubs irritably at his ears, a habit he's retained from childhood. She remembers the first time he'd displayed such embarrassment when he met Giggles when they were in diapers, some things just didn't change. The thought leaves when she turns her eyes to their outfits, zoning in on her sibling's lowcut shorts and cropped shirt. It's...
She can't think of this now. She only wants to envision Flakes, herself, two masks, and a golden pole.
In no time at all their names, well stage names, interrupt Lady Gaga as they're announced. Flaky can't stop her facepalm at the name she begged Lumpy to change, which he didn't. Obviously. Since the two dancers were twins he found it suiting that their name be "Red Orgasm" even when they protested.
"Hagh, Lumpy you're so embarrassing," she whispers.
Flakes offers his hand, nails painted crimson and sheen with clear coat, to his younger sister. "Forget the name and just let loose. Focus on the pole and let our routine take hold of your body. Ten dollars goes to the person who doesn't make a single mistake," he adds the latter sentence slyly.
Flaky refrains a challenging smirk and slips her hand in his. She's the best at remembering routines and they both know it.
The cheer the crowd delivers makes her pounding heart jump against her ribs. Her skin is once again on fire, heat rippling through every vein and jolting her from head to toes with electrical currents. Flaky's bated breath is free to the air but her vision is confined to look only straight, requiring a swerve of her head to see sideways; she'll gladly accept this restriction in order to conceal her visage.
"You ready, Red?" Flakes asks, holding back a shiver.
"So you're the orgasm?" Flaky swaps her genuine smile for a flirtatious smirk.
"Got girls riding on me so much I had to change my name to Stallion~"
"Oh, I thought your name was orgasm because you're messy and not worth half the time~"
Their chatter was concluded once their song was popped in. It wasn't just any song, it was their song. Reserved for no dancers other than them it was a breath of freshness in the loop of incessant pop music. A breathy moan emitted from the speaks accompanied hers as the two strutter down the stage.
This was her realm. She was the expert of this dance. The dominator of any pole.
Flaky instantly hooked the back of her knee on the pole and grasped the metal with high stretched arms. Her feet left the ground as she swung, the parting of her legs entering the routine while she swiftly descended. She grabbed the pole beneath her with a left hand, tucking knees to her chest, and circled the bar one, two, three times.
Flaunt, arouse, desire.
Show, expose, reveal.
Breathless, flustered, skilled.
The passion yearned to be displayed and she gratefully feeds it on stage.
Flaky touches the floor for a milisecond, standing with a thrust of her voluptuous hips before grabbing above her head and flipping one leg after the other in a semicircle. Her backside ends facing the crowd, who are entranced both by the girl and her brother. His thin figure helps his grace as he kicks one legs to meet his face, an open hand stopping the actual contact.
For a moment they stay paralyzed. Flaky with her back arching and Flakes with the pale flesh of his inner thighs brandished. Then in a sudden flourish, Flaky wraps both her legs around the golden rod and proceeds to climb up it. She juts a leg and arm out, ankle and remaining hand securing her, and winds around without dropping an inch. Flakes ducks her leg, angles a hand to the ground, fingers skimming dangerously close to the subtle bulge in his shorts, and turns to cluth the pole's bottom half his sister isn't occupying. With the two siblings on the pole, one squatting and the other using her thighs to hold her, the routine is increasingly difficult.
Flaky drops her hands to bend back, spine and head meeting metal lightly, and grab the coolness just above where Flakes clutches. She pants from the exertion, hair tumbling to leave her neck bare to a draft, silently praying for her mask to stay intact. Thighs tightening, she gradually shimmies up until her knees reach the low ceiling, successfully putting a foot between the two. Shoulders scream as her legs untangle and drift down, widely parted, to where she can see her feet. From there she alone relies on upperbody strength as she bucks her bottom up, releasing an inch of the pole with each thrust, legs bouncing at her lowering.
At this point Flakes is doing all he can to not ram heads with her. He pointedly sticks his backside out to the crowd before crushing his pelvic into metal, his hiss enticing a scream from a few older women and men. He twirls in the little room his has, using his upper thighs and groin for most of the action unlike Flaky. It hurts like a bitch but he can already picture the nosebleed and bills they'll be raining in. The only downside is Flaky's hair is in the way when he told her to tie it up, but he can improvise and daringly lace his fingers in it.
Flaky's arms are tembling, threatening to give out under her weight if they're put through this suffering any longer, so she flips off the pole onto her feet. This gives the opportunity to Flakes to finally stand, seductively drag his skin on the chilliness as he raises his leg, and crook his foot around it. He bites his bottom lip, eyes fluttering shut, and leans back some. Flaky drags her hands up the curves of his stomach, dipping them down her abdomen past her navel, while Flakes hastily rides around once and drops to his knees.
Another break, tiny but there, when the song halts.
Blood thunders in her ears and makes her deaf to every cheer. Flaky's eyes roam the crowd until they're locked onto one specific person, or rather their hair. Fiery like hers and Flakes' but with those apathetic eyes judging her every move. A flash and her boss is smirking at her.
The music starts up and time is rapid now. The finishing moves come into play, Flakes bouncing up slightly and flipping his legs skywards and back to stand on his feet. Flaky gulps, takes her stance, and performs a full one-armed cartwheel across the stage's front. She crosses her arms before her chest, palms open to her right and left, and spins. When she reaches her original starting point her hands clamp down on her knees, hair swooshing between her legs as she ducks and straightens in record time.
Flakes is busy adding a last two twirls on the pole for good measures when the song enters its last ten seconds. He remains on the pole, front facing the crowd, legs entwining the pole, and arms raised anove his head. Flaky dances to her last stance, head placed precariously near her brother's groin and left hand grabbing at his right thigh, when the last beat sounds. The two are panting lowly, red under their masquerade masks and limbs on fire.
It's worth it when the screams reign in, blasting whatever hearing they had left, followed by drifting bills thrown in their direction. The siblings make quick work of collecting their profits, allowing audacious customers to tuck papers in their shorts or shirts, and send out a barrage of air kisses. They leave the stage with their arms enclosing the other sibling, flesh on flesh not leaving much for the imagination.
Behind the curtains Flaky screams a bit. "That great don't you think!" she asked cheerfully, adrenaline still injected in her system. "I don't think we made any mistakes, and if we did the crowd certainly didn't notice."
"The only thing that got in the way was your stupid hair," Flakes teases. He swats her voluminous hair. "And I think that qualifies as a screw up, so you better hand over my ten dollars."
Flaky hits him away, pulling off her mask. Rejuvenating air hit sweat and she sighs in contentment.
That contentment is short lived when Lammy rushed in. The violette grabs her arm, painted smile painfully large on her face. "Flaky! You were great out there! I was so amazed!" She looks at Flakes. "You were pretty okay too."
Flaky can nearly see the arrow pierce her sibling's heart, dejection clouding his face faster than it had when she called his shoes tacky. Laughing at his grumbled thanks, she makes for her dressing room. "Thanks, Lammy. We put a lot of practice into it and we're glad it was enjoyable."
"But wait!" Lammy yanks her back, brows curved up. "I came back here to tell you that there's a man at the bar asking for your name! I was serving him when you came on and well," she winks, "maybe he became smitten with you~ His eyes light up and everything!"
"Really?" Flaky tugs her hair, sprouting an uneasy feeling for who the mystery man was. "What's his name?"
"Didn't say, but he was persistent about learning yours~ he's with a group, though he seems to be isolated from them."
Well hot damn.
"He's tall, red hair brushed back with gel, kinda looks like he hates everything."
Double hot damn.
"Said he wants to meet you, and paid me a little extra to bring you out."
Bend her over a Mercedes and tattoo the name Betty on her back because she couldn't believe what she was hearing. Didn't want to believe it.
"So come on!" Lammy urges, pushing past Flakes and stabbing the arrow in deeper. "He's waiting!"
"Ah..." Flaky looked at her brother for help, any excuse why she couldn't go out there, but she only saw melancholy. What a drama queen.
As she was lead from backstage, she muses the thought of dressing up Flakes in her clothes and sending him out in her steed. Would Splendont be idiot enough to believe it? Looking back at Flakes and his hanging jaw, she gets her answer.
Probably not.
"That man over there," Lammy points. "Sitting at the bar with the dress shirt, see?"
Yes she can see. She can also see where her other boss, Splendid, and Cuddles are drunkenly singing to Die Young. Giggles looks like she'd rather be anywhere than there, and Flaky almost laughs at the longing in her eyes when the dancers came on. She can't wave for fear of blowing her cover, cover for both jobs that is. Flaky remembers something Lumpy said about dancers being prohibited from having other jobs.
"Thanks, Lammy." Flaky waves, fixes her mask (what a joy it'd been to put the sweaty thing on), and treads to the bar. She leans on the counter and with a quick whip throws her hair over her shoulder.
Splendont looks at her listlessly, prompting Flaky to take her seat, head bowed, like she'd been called to the principal's office.
"Um, hello." She squirms in the cold seat. "My friend told me you wanted to meet?"
"That was quite a show you put up there," Splendont says. He didn't angle his body to her, signifying he really didn't give a damn wether she was there or not. "I'll have to pay you extra just for that."
"H-huh? Oh, you really don't have to pay me!" What? Yes he did, she nearly broke her arms for this performance. But this was her boss she was talking to! "I got enough from the crowd so..."
Splendont's pupils dart to look at her, laying their full simmering glare directly on her. She flinches and finds distraction in pulling her shorts down. She suddenly feels uncomfortable in her own skin.
"Really now? Well I intended to add it to your paycheck, but I see you don't want that bonus."
Flaky pales. "W-what?"
"Don't think I didn't know it was you from the beginning, Ms. Flaky." Splendont brings the glass to his lips, lids lowering impassively. "I don't know what kind of dumbass you take me for, but I'm certainly not as stupid as my brother."
Flaky thinks she must look akin to a fish with how her mouth in gaping open. Or worse, she must look like Flakes when she left him. She doesn't know how to reply, so opts for a conversation lull.
Splendont stirs his drink with lazy rotations of his wrist. He doesn't press the conversation further, but he does eye her with an arched eyebrow. "Well?" he utters two eternal minutes later.
"W-well?" Flaky squeaks, panicking. Tears prick her eyes. "I'm guessing I'm fired?"
"How does it feel to be up there?" Splendont detours the subject, leaving her on the edge of her seat. "How does it feel to be on display? Naked for everyone? Is it nice knowing you're a whore?"
She grows rigid. "Whore?"
"You're disgusting. Filthy and unfit for anyone. You know that right, whore?"
The words kick at her heart and her pupils shrink. If there's one thing she can't stand being called, it's a whore. Or slut, prostitute, tramp, harlot, and so on. Because she's not. She doesn't allow man after man to invade her, too make her pure skin pungent and reeking. The only thing she dance to exhibit her talents, that's the only damn thing. It doesn't hurt anyone, yet here her boss is, Splendont is, insulting her.
"What?" Flaky flares, planning to protect her virture. She won't sit here and let another person, another man, chink at her integrity. "But I'm not! You're sorely mistaken if you think-"
"You're unethical," he drawls on, this time turning to her completely. That glare pins her down and she's fighting to not look away. "Immoral, tainted, corrupted. Rightfully I call you a whore."
"Shut-"
"Do not interrupt me." He cuts her off, hand perceptibly gripping his cup tighter. "You do this because you believe no one will ever love you, right? You hate yourself so much you've driven to dancing like a dirty little slut for pocket change?"
Flaky shakes her head, her anger waning as his accusations set in. She desperately looks around for a reason to leave, anything, but when Splendont lays a hand on her thigh she whines.
"I'll tell you the truth." Splendont leans in to excruciatingly close proximity. She tries brushing his hand away to no avail. "No one will ever love you. You're hideous. A disgrace to mankind. A letdown to everyone around you."
Shrinking into herself, Flaky peers at her hands. She doesn't realize her burning retinas had nothing affiliated with losing her job. "I'm not a w-whore," the redhead said hoarsely. "Don't call me t-that, because I do have people that love me!"
"The girl who danced with you onstage doesn't count."
Flaky feels a slap to her shame when the man attacks her brother. She drags an arm over her eyes, thankful for waterproof mascara, and growls instead. "He's my brother you asshole."
"But does he love you?"
"Of course!"
"That's what you think, Ms. Flaky. If he truly loved you he'd say this line a business wasn't right for a young woman like you. He wouldn't encourage you to perform those horrible things."
"He doesn't make me," she disputed. "I do this of my own will."
Splendont hums, bringing his other hand to stroke her mane of hair. She shivers when he tangles his fingers in it and tugs. She really needs to escape, to get away from his touches. They are making her feel more dirty than dancing on stage did. She feels more naked than when she dones nothing but a g-string and bra.
"Really? That's a shame, I know what you're only craving is love and comfort. After all, this is a lonely line of work."
The redheaded female leans away.
"I do know a few people who'd be happy to shower you in affection..." He peers up at her ravenously, lust completely replacing disgust. Looking aghast, she smacks his hands away, only to have him grip her wrist relentlessly. "Once you look past your dreadful work, you are stunning."
"Let me go." It comes out as a desperate plea rather than command. "L-let me go!"
He grabs her chin to hold her in place, locking their eyes together. The applied pressure on his fingers reminds her what exact spot he's placed them in. A flick and she could be dealing with a broken jaw.
"Don't want to make a scene now, do we?"
It wasn't like his tone would allow her to, she wants to voice.
"I have a proposition for you."
Now he's massaging circles on her thigh. She shivers, thinking about how she'll have to rub the skin raw to erase the feeling. On a normal occasion she would say her boss is handsome, but when he's acting as a creep, she finds it hard to see him appealing.
"And if you don't accept it, I'll fire you."
"You can't do t-that!" Flaky gasps, voice breaking when his fingers move up to play with the zipper of her shorts. She feels thoroughly harassed now, eyes sweeping the crowd for signs of her older sibling. "I h-haven't done anything!"
"Can't I?" Splendont uses an open hand to indicate the club, smirking. "What would you call this? I'm sure filing a report including this would give your name a bad record. The company wouldn't want that and drop you faster than your mother did when you were a baby."
"I-but-" The woman is at a loss for words.
"Unless...there's always that proposition."
Flaky is reluctant to ask. The pay and tips at the club are good, but it isn't enough to pay for the care of her and her brother. Seventy percent of their monthly incomes derives from her main job, she reminds herself. And finding well-paying jobs is difficult.
She moistens her lips. "What is it?" Her voice's pitch is higher than usual.
Splendont smiles charmingly, the finger at her belt still prodding incessantly at her zipper. That's the first time she's seen him show any emotion that doesn't unease her, but wait, that smile does unease her. "A proposition to get the love you deserve. As I mentioned, I have many friends who'd love to lavish you in affections beyond blief. Most are from a higher class and willing to pay grand amounts for your services."
It clicks what he was asking for, and Flaky again jerks at her confined arms. "Are you asking me to be a legitimate whore for your so called friends?" she exclaims outraged. "Prostitution...just to keep my job?"
"If you want to use those repulsive words, then yes."
"But that's, that's inhumane! Listen to yourself!"
"All I hear is the garbled sounds of my inebriated brother and your indecision.
"It's your choice," he reminded. "You're free to say no, I won't be upset. But should you pick that option, there goes your job."
How was it her choice if he knew she couldn't lose her job? This was a game of chess and he was winning. Her queen was unguarded and her pawns lost. She stared around, trying to figure out how she'd ended up here. The dance was great, everybody cheered for her, and now she was struggling for air while her boss was slipping into her shorts.
"Mm!" she cries in discomfort when a single digit drags down her underwear. "S-stop!"
"I require an answer, Ms. Flaky."
"You're a dirty cheat, y-you know I can't say no." The tears were returning. "You know I can't provide for me and my brother without it..."
"The clock is ticking, love."
Flaky clenches her thighs around his hand, trembling. His hand has taken to tracing her mask. "I..."
She couldn't. But then again, she couldn't afford to say no. If she did, what would happen to Flakes? He already belittled himself to dance for women and men, suffered the touches of the same gender, and-Guilt gripped her heart and squeezed. She wouldn't tell him about the tube of clear gel she found in his drawers. Nor ask why he refused to stand some days. She wouldn't prod at something he hated doing. If she said yes, maybe she could bring in more money and that'd stop his second business.
By stopping him, Flaky would be taking the burden instead.
Yes.
No.
Yes.
No.
Yes...
Signing her soul to the devil, or letting the demons consume her only family?
"I'll...do it," Flaky cried the words, aware that she'd began crying. How could she not? She wasn't a whore, but he was making her become one.
Splendont sighed in gratification. "That's wonderful to hear. Now, Ms. Flaky, you can start by unclenching your thighs."
So this took a turn for the worst ._. I can't write anything that's not serious nowadays...But anyway!
I swear I was gonna add bloopers to make it funny but I got laazzyy xD So I'll just add all the funny things that came up when I was talking to Crystal about this!:
Flakes and Flaky bumping into each other and falling off the stage while dancing, Splendont fucking Flaky in the bathroom, grinding on poles/grinding on each other (dammit Crystal), nipple licking, and omfg best part was the name for the two XD She came up with Red Orgasm, along with Twin Fantasy, Loco Moco, Shy Cuties, Dick and Pussy, and Two for one Special (I died).
SO I WROTE THIS FOR ONE REASON AND ONE REASON ONLY.
To have the A/N to ask if anyone has kik? 8D Crystal and I want new friends to talk to! So if anyone is interested, PM me (unless you want your name public for everyone). Ples we're...I'm...desperate for friends. Help a poor uninspired soul out. It's really fun, because Crystal is such an idiot to chat with...
But anyway, as for the story (I got sidetracked and loaded this shit with even more bullshit). The prostitution begins, because I was watching a show about prostitutes and...Hm...
Last note!: Is my writing bland? Crystal says no but she's the bae and I can't trust her with anything D: Is my writing boring or not? Really, I want to know. Rarely anyone comments on my actual writing and it's hard to want to get better but having no where to start...
